Rock-a-Bye, Baby (don't you howl)
by AvaRosier
Summary: Lydia Martin moves to Beacon Hills because she's ready to be a mother, even if she has to do without a partner. But when a mix-up at the clinic means she might be pregnant with an Alpha werewolf's baby, she suddenly finds herself a part of a whole different world. And just because she's pregnant with Derek Hale's offspring does NOT mean she will go and fall in love with him.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

**Welcome to Beacon Hills!**

**Population: 76,452**

Lydia Martin let herself smile for the first time since she had set out from her old apartment in New Jersey, two days before. She was exhausted from the cross-country drive, despite having stopped twice for the night at the nicest hotels she could find in Des Moines and Salt Lake City. Just because she was going on a road trip was no excuse for roughing it and arriving at her new home looking like a George Romero film reject.

As she followed the steady cadence of her GPS' automated voice, Lydia basked in the early afternoon sunlight and took in the town that would be her home for the next decade at least. She'd had a slew of job offers after winning the Fields Medal for her pioneering work in theoretical mathematics, but it was the relatively unexciting location of Beacon Hills that had called out to her.

She'd be writing a book and taking on some projects that facilitated online correspondence, affording her the space to work out of the home. Her work was going to revolutionize the financial sector, she would make sure of that. But there was one particular reason she had chosen Beacon Hills and intended to work out of her home: a baby.

She'd been thinking a lot lately about children. Even though she'd had very ambitious academic and career goals since she was twelve years old, she'd always known she wanted to be a mother someday. It wasn't some attempt to 'keep up with the Jeffersons' by attaining the image of Having It All, these were genuinely the things she wanted out of life. And Lydia Martin had a tendency to get what she wanted. Now that she was twenty-eight years old and in between careers, there was no better time to start making choices based on where she wanted to raise a child. And Beacon Hills, nestled in the heavily forested areas of Northern California, had won out.

There was only one small wrench in the works: she didn't have a significant other in her life to father said baby. To be specific, none of the men in her life she'd felt could be her equal. Lydia was a very willful and opinionated woman, and while she had met a number of good men, none of them were ever comfortable accepting these traits as anything less than a personal failing on her part. And she had no intention of having a baby with any of them and risk having the relationship fall apart down the road, leaving her to deal with an antagonistic ex through lawyers and child support payments.

No, thank you. Lydia would rather that her child be hers, and nobody else's.

She had a tendency to hold her cards close to her chest which made intimacy and the types of relationships that led to marriage difficult. Evidently, it was also a challenge to find a man who was capable of picking up his own damn socks.

Lydia Martin was not going to mother a grown man.

She harbored no illusion that being a single mother would be easy, but she had researched her options thoroughly and determined that Beacon Hills would afford her the resources to stay home at least part-time with her baby for the first year or so of its life, and there were good and less expensive childcare options available.

"_In 45 feet, turn left onto Morningstar Crescent Road. You have arrived at your destination_."

Lydia pressed down on the brake, causing the Camaro to decelerate before she swung the wheel around and pulled into the driveway before the small two-story house that she had bought less than a month ago.

It was painted pale yellow, had a front porch and an enclosed backyard that overlooked the woods, three bedrooms and a study, and it was all hers.

"Home sweet home," she whispered.


	2. Only the Best Will Do

"Okay, that'll be all, Ms Martin. You may change back into your clothes and then we'll discuss the results of your exam." The doctor said as Lydia lowered her legs from the stirrups. Dr Maritza Flores was a stout fortyish woman with short, greying black hair and large brown eyes framed by shockingly bright violet glasses. As the OB-GYN disposed of her latex gloves and picked up Lydia's medical file, Lydia herself was stepping down from the exam table and reaching for her black cotton panties, still feeling a bit gross from the lubricant Dr. Flores had used.

It'd been two weeks since she had moved into her new house in Beacon Hills and the excitement of being far away from everyone she knew, striking out on her own, still hadn't worn off. She'd gotten all her furniture and belongings put in what she deemed was their rightful place. She'd have to find some more furniture for the guest bedroom and so on, but the one room that was particularly empty was the small sunlit room down the hall from her master bedroom: her future child's bedroom. In there, she had only a few items— principally a beautifully crafted oak crib. It was the one indulgence she had allowed herself in advance of this appointment.

Completely dressed once again, Lydia entered the adjacent office and sat down on the other side of the desk. Dr Flores smiled warmly at her. "Now then, Ms Martin- do you mind if I call you Lydia? I'd feel-" Lydia's response was swift.

"No." She said simply. "It's nothing against you, Doctor. I just find it more comfortable to remain on formal and professional terms." She linked her fingers around a crossed kneecap and tried to look as sincere as possible.

Dr Flores didn't even blink before giving a small shrug and continuing. "That'll be fine, Ms Martin. Without beating around the bush, I see no physical reason why you shouldn't successfully conceive via artificial insemination. The first thing you will need to do is take home some folders with potential donors and hopefully you'll be able to narrow the choices down to a handful of candidates." Dr Flores pulled out a set of three small binders filled to the brim with plastic dividers.

"Oh, how refreshing!" Lydia trilled, taking them from the doctor. "_Binders full of men_."

Dr. Flores snorted and scribbled something down in Lydia's file. "Shall we set an appointment for two weeks' time? The procedure is relatively simple, but if you need more time, we can, of course, reschedule."

This time, her smile was beatific. Flipping her glossy strawberry mane over her shoulder, she hefted her bag over her arm. "I look forward to it, Doctor Flores."

That evening, after sending off a draft of the second chapter of her book to her editor, Lydia curled up on her sofa with a glass of red wine (better to enjoy the alcohol while she could) and the multi-colored binders full of potential sperm donors. "Let's see what we've got…" she murmured as she flipped open the first one.

"#JA4918, brown eyes..blah blah…Cambridge! Religion: extra-ecclesiam nulla salus, mostly Calvinistic including infralapsarianism— _no_."

"#JA221, blonde hair and blue eyes, 6'1…played football, medical doctor…" Lydia hummed. "Sounds nice…'why do you want to be a donor?' 'children are God's gift and I have been blessed with good genes'…_No_."

She flipped the page several more times before tossing the green binder aside and picking up the blue one. She'd specified men who were 6' or more because she figured with her short genes, she might as well give her future child the possibility of averaging out to be at least 5'5". Taller people did receive more advantages in life, according to the Social Science journals she'd read. (Real ones, not that _Psychology Today_ crap).

But the second binder was more of the same.

#ME753 sounded like one of those asshole philosophy majors.

#ME9045 was perfect. Too perfect. And Lydia absolutely was not going to raise a sociopath.

#ME0067 was a pretentious douchebag. And he had gone to Stanford. Lydia hated Stanford. Not irrationally, she had a complete list of logical reasons why she hated that university, _thankyouverymuch_.

In the black folder she found little worth consideration.

There was #RU633 who was an astrophysicist, 6' tall with dark brown eyes and black hair, of Indian origin. But his MBTI personality test registered him as an ISFP, and quite frankly if her child received those traits, Lydia worried that she would not be able to identify with it, being an ENTJ herself.

And Lydia did not relish having to deal with one of those overly emo teenagers that couldn't manage to resolve their own problems without her nagging them.

The very next day (after several hours of focused work, of course), Lydia marched back into the clinic.

"I find this selection very wanting. Don't you have anything else?" She demanded of the dumbfounded receptionist. The woman, a mousy blonde in JcPenney suit separates, stammered before she managed to form words. "You're sure that _not a single donor_ in all these folders would suit?"

"Not one." She said succinctly.

"Well…I see. Is there a particular reason?"

"I said I preferred unique or exceptional men, not braggarts or pretentious Republicans. I may place more stock on nurture than on nature, but that's no reason to play Russian roulette with my future child's genetics. You can do better than this." Lydia set the discarded binders on top of the counter with a judgmental arch of her eyebrow.

The receptionist, Claire Pickens, had been on the job for two weeks. She really liked it here. There had been some drama prior to her hiring, what with a doctor at the clinic having died several weeks earlier, leaving everyone else to try to figure out her files and sample research.

Claire checked the data on the files that Lydia had been given, and for want of finding any donors that would possibly satisfy the annoyed strawberry blonde tapping her heel on the thinly carpeted lobby outside, grabbed one of the late Dr. Najarian's files. The woman had been a research technician who also dealt with genetic testing of samples, and when the other doctors had gone into her office to get things sorted out after her car accident, her files had been a mess. There were samples that, while labelled, were not yet registered despite being (by all appearances) ideal donors, and the genetic data hadn't yet been entered into the system.

But one of the folders for the samples was sitting right there in the back room.

A quick, cursory look told Claire the documents inside were in the same format as all the other binders. You see, the clinic had certain groupings of donor binders under codenames. Sometimes a patient would be given donors in a particular binder that fit her criteria; sometimes they could be rather varied. And Lydia Martin seemed to have stringent requirements for the sperm that would father her future child.

Flipping through Dr. Najarian's folder, labelled 'Luna', Claire thought that the men described inside just might satisfy her.

If not, well, she was off the next three days and it'd be someone else's problem. She'd let Dr. Flores know so it didn't look like she wasn't trying to do her job well. And she _really_ needed the job to pay off her student loans.

Hurrying back through the door to the front counter, she handed the folder over to Lydia. "Why don't you try these, if none of the donors appeal to you, then give Doctor Flores a call so that she might be able to either adjust the parameters of your search or even contact other clinics. We can do that, too, you know. There's no reason to be limited by the pool in the county."

Lydia just took the folder, inclined her head with a small, polite smile. "We'll see. Have a nice day, Claire." Claire thought that parting remark sounded more like a threat. Ms. Martin spun around and stalked out of the clinic doors.

Claire breathed a sigh of relief to see the other woman go.

At first, Lydia wasn't sure why Claire had thought this folder would give her something the others hadn't, given that the donor sheets contained less information than the original three binders. But the more Lydia read, the more the selection intrigued her.

There was #LU5357 who was 27 years old now, 6'3 with black hair and dark brown eyes; African-American. Christian, but that didn't matter much to her. But he had a Master's in Architecture. From California Polytechnic State University, which from a cursory search on Google, was one of the top architecture schools in the country. And he was described as pragmatic, well-spoken, but measured in when he chose to speak up. A great counselor to a leader, the recorder thought. Lydia was suitably impressed.

And then she came across Mr. #LU966

He would be 34 years old now, 6' tall, with black hair and pale green eyes. Lydia almost dismissed him when she saw that he didn't appear to have gone to college. But the accompanying data seemed to paint a more personal and authentic picture than any of the others she had read. He was described as an unexpectedly good leader; earnest, straightforward, perhaps too trusting. If those last descriptors set off alarm bells, Lydia forgot them as soon as she saw the attached item.

It was a baby picture, from when he was perhaps eighteen months old (she had studied child development extensively, to the point she could identify how many months old an infant was). Lydia brushed a perfectly manicured finger over the glossy wallet-sized photograph. He had such a lovely baby smile, she found herself smiling in return and even _cooing_ at him.

And if anyone accused her of scanning the photograph and running it through one of those websites that combined his photo with her baby photo to produce a possible likeness for what their babies would look like, she would deny it to her dying day.

Instead of the personal responses saying 'I like this' or 'I am', the donors in this folder seemed to have their responses recorded in the third person. Hence Mr. #LU966's personal response sheet went along the lines of:

"_He is a talented baseball player, with broad shoulders and a rather muscular body_. _Maintains a good diet_." A good diet predicted healthy sperm, always a good thing. And although she would love her child no matter what, he or she would get further in life if they were attractive. She had read many studies that demonstrated such a correlation.

"_Family is very important to him, he believes in maintaining close-knit ties. He looks up to his mother and grandmother. They are strong leaders, he says. And his grandmother and uncle have made sure he's a terrific cook_. _A bit of a neatnik_." A man who respected the leadership of women, a big plus in his favor, Lydia thought. She liked that he didn't appear to fall prey to society's ideas on gender-appointed tasks.

"_He enjoys literature and poetry and as much as he can analyze the most famous English writers, he prefers the Russian ones_."

Oh well, nobody's perfect.

And his genetic history only had one mention: "_no genetic diseases_." Actually, none of the profiles in that particular folder had any hereditary diseases. The previous three binders often had the mention a possible tendency or two for cancers or even male pattern baldness (hence why she had dismissed so many of them out of hand).

Even after looking at all the other files, Lydia kept returning to that one. She chewed on her bottom lip as she weighed the pros and cons by writing out an extensive list. It wasn't that he had a more impressive file than the other men, but there was something about him that she kept returning to over and over. Maybe her instinct saw something that her head did not.

Maybe it was the same instinct that had directed her to bypass the acceptance letters to Princeton, MIT, Berkeley, and CalTech in favor of going to Penn for her undergraduate degree. She'd later gone on for her Ph.D at Princeton, but she wouldn't have traded her three-and-a-half years in Philadelphia for anything.

"I think we have a winner." She slapped the open folder down on her coffee table.

Mr. #LU966 was going to be a father.


	3. Spaghetti and Meatballs

Derek Hale was _never_ going to be a father.

He repeated that thought like a mantra as he gently bounced baby Max in his arms in an effort to make the seven month-old spawn of Jackson and Allison stop screaming his head off. So far, he wasn't having much success. He would just hand the boy off to one of his betas but Jackson had expressly forbidden anyone from taking over for Derek until dinner was ready because, as he had put it, "_the Alpha needed to have bonding time with his newest pack member_."

Well, they _weren't_ bonding; Max was doing his level best to make his Alpha go deaf.

"I am never having kids!" Erica declared, her hands clapped over her ears as she glared at the baby. Max technically wasn't the only child in the pack. There were also the four-year old twins, Meredith and Frederick, the latter having escaped the curse of becoming Vernon Milton Boyd IV. Meredith was perched serenely on the couch near her father, looking decidedly unimpressed with her Alpha's child-rearing abilities. She had clearly inherited her mother's strangeness. If anyone was the picture of a stereotypical witch, it was Una Anders Boyd.

"I would like to add that you guys never made me do this with Mere and Freddie." Derek pointed out while he tried to rub Max's back in a comforting manner. Boyd piped up then, not even looking away from the novel he was reading.

"Una didn't want your negative energy poisoning them when they were babies. Plus, Stiles thought you might eat them if they cried too much."

"Stiles!" Derek growled.

From inside the kitchen, Stiles gave a shout. "You're not supposed to _tell_ him that! I'd prefer not to have my throat ripped out with his teeth thankyouverymuch!" Derek could hear Danny murmur that he liked Stiles' throat where it was, too, and that set off what sounded like another round of kissing.

Freddie, who had been learning the finer points of lacrosse from his Uncle Scott gasped and spun around at that. Eyes wide he stared up at Derek. "Derek wanted to eat me?"

His sister was quick to reply. "Yes."

Boyd snickered at his daughter. She was every inch the troll he was.

"Nobody wanted to eat you, Freddie." Scott comforted the four-year old with an exasperated glance towards the kitchcen.

Derek groaned and bounce-walked a now whimpering Max into the kitchen where Danny and Stiles were supposed to be cooking food. What the two newlyweds were doing instead, was canoodling against the counter while Jackson supervised the boiling pasta and simmering meatball sauce. Una was sat at the massive dining room table, discussing healing spells with Isaac that he could put into use at the animal clinic. Now that Max was in the presence of one of his parents, he had settled for a petulant pout. Derek eyed him suspiciously. "You are definitely your father's son."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Allison said, breezing past him into the kitchen, pausing momentarily to kiss her son until he was cooing at her and squirming in Derek's hold. Then she skirted the kitchen island and wrapped her arms around her husband, careful not to get in the way of his obsessive monitoring of the bubbling red sauce. Jackson was a bit of a dictator in the kitchen, go figure.

Scott had followed him into the kitchen and Derek was relieved to see the other man nonplussed by the scene. He had moped for months when Jackson and Allison had gone from friends to more than. Scott and Allison had been high school sweethearts, but as was the case for many young couples, both of them had gone in separate directions after high school and changed too much to ever fit together again the way they had.

But everyone would agree on one thing: Allison made Jackson slightly less douchey. And little Max, who was happily slobbering all over Derek's gray Henley, was going to be stupid attractive when he was older.

"If you two are done exploring each other's tonsils, how about you finish the salad and give me the chopped basil so we can eat sometime soon?" Jackson bitched at Stiles and Danny.

Erica's mobile went off and she headed upstairs to answer it.

They had just sat down at the table fifteen minutes later, when Erica came back downstairs, her face stormy.

"We have a big problem."

"I fucking hate you all," Jackson swore, slapping his napkin down on an empty plate.

Stiles stared at Erica as she bit her lip with worry, then he looked down at the massive pots of pasta and sauce, and then back up at Erica again. "Are you _sure_ we can't fortify ourselves with spaghetti and meatballs _before_ we deal with whatever wolfbiz has come up?" He wheedled, reaching for the spoon handle. Danny slapped his husband's hand away with a shake of his head.

"Vic just called me. Today, she met with a friend of hers, Dr York, who just began working at a fertility clinic in town. He was taking over for another doctor who was killed in a car accident a month or two ago. Anyways, Dr York- who's in the know about us- found these notes. Apparently there's a catalogue of sperm donors which he's pretty sure are werewolves."

Her declaration was met with complete silence until Stiles decided to seek clarification.

"So, what, werewolves need help knocking each other up?" He wasn't seeing what the big problem was. By the way Erica was practically tugging a section of her hair out of her scalp, it was a problem.

("Mommy, what's sperm?" Freddie asked Una. She only murmured distractedly, "Nothing you need to worry about for 7.6 years.")

"No, that's the thing, their, um, DNA wasn't supposed to be for use," Erica continued. "In fact, between Dr. Najarian's death and Dr. York taking over, the catalogue has only been used once. So whomever used the DNA doesn't know she could be having a werewolf baby. I had Vic email all the information they have to Danny."

The blonde beta seemed to steel herself for what she was about to say next, looking directly at Derek. "But two of the profiles she recognized- the descriptions sound a lot like Boyd and you. And Derek, yours was the sample used."

Derek stared at Erica blankly. "I don't understand."

"I think she's trying to tell you that there might be a woman out there pregnant with your baby right now." Allison explained, watching Derek's reaction with concern.

"Your werewolf baby," Stiles supplied helpfully. On Stiles' other side, Isaac just sat there, staring at the pasta as if it were the source of his consternation.

"I'm going to bring up the big elephant in the room and ask how in the world this doctor even had Boyd and Derek's sp- um," he backtracked, realizing that there were still children in the room. "How did they even have _the stuff_ in the first place?"

"Well, I haven't made any donations, that much I know." Boyd drawled, his shoulders tensed. Derek met Issac's gaze for a moment before shaking his head as well.

"Me neither."

Supper was abandoned for the time being. Everyone crowded around Danny as he booted up his laptop and brought up his e-mail. Una had swept all the kids upstairs with small bowls of food so that they wouldn't overhear things that they shouldn't. Scott was convinced that she could use her 'witchy ways' to eavesdrop on their conversation anyways. (She couldn't, she simply knew Boyd would update her in great detail later. She never corrected Scott's assumptions because, hey, a gal had to get her laughs somehow.)

It wasn't long before Danny had opened several file attachments, one with the catalogue of werewolf 'donors' and some of the deceased Doctor's records. "Hey, see that date there?" Jackson pointed to the file on the screen. "The samples for Boyd and Derek were obtained seven years ago."

Scott made the connection pretty quickly.

"So that would be when- _oh shit_."

"Oh yep," Stiles popped the 'p'. "Ros and her surprise big sister, Angelique Morell."

The Morell sisters were a topic that the pack had learned long ago to skirt. Boyd had been involved with Ros, another wolf, for several months and Derek had grown closer to 'Angie'. Stiles could never break himself of the habit of calling her 'Ms Morell', but she had somewhat proven herself to be on their side as far as keeping Beacon Hills safe went. Her and Derek had had a small thing that just didn't last. But then she had been killed by a rogue Alpha who had moved in on the territory.

Ros didn't stay around for long, unable to bring herself to stay around the place that had sent her sister to her death. The kicker was, nobody, not even Boyd or Deaton, had known that Rosemarie Carlyle was Angie's younger sister. Why the two had hidden this while around people they supposedly trusted and/or were friendly with, defied explanation.

But now they had a clue, and it wasn't a good one.

Derek hadn't been in love with Angelique, not the way he had been with Kate. If you wanted to call whatever it was they had 'love'. He had been young and immature. She had been duplicitous and cruel. Angelique may have done things for her own ends, but she didn't seem to have had bad intentions.

Danny cleared his throat. "Well, your sample was definitely used, Derek. None of the others were, thankfully. Dr York won't release confidential information about her, but he at least passed along her name. Lydia Martin."

He was already typing it into Google.

"Oh wow!" Stiles whistled when a number of images came up. "Your babymama is smoking!"

Lydia Martin was in her late twenties, a redhead with what some pack members thought were brown eyes and others thought green, and who had several degrees in various forms of mathematics. From the long list of accolades on her Yale University webpage, she was a very accomplished academic. Derek privately agreed with Stiles. She was beautiful and from the way she stared into the cameras as they snapped pictures of her, very self-assured.

"God, she's really smart- did you see that she won the Fields Medal?" Allison was practically pushing Isaac and Stiles to the side to peer closer at the laptop screen with her puny human eyes. "Hey, wait, what's that video? Danny, click the Youtube link." She commanded.

What followed was a five minute clip from a lecture at Yale where some eminent mathematician had been giving a presentation. Someone had uploaded a segment from the Q&A session where Lydia Martin, then a Master's student, had picked apart his proof and, when he became flustered and could only rebut with thinly veiled insults, unleashed a poised but devastating evisceration of his entire argument.

_"…perhaps you thought resorting to ad hominem attacks would shut me up, but for your information, I was once a teenage girl who attended a public high school. This is nothing. If you have no intellectual argument to counter mine with, we can only conclude that the possibility you made an error did not cross your mind and this is simply a case of lacking knowledge, not holding your peers in contempt and figuring nobody would be quick enough to catch you in a lie. So really, you shouldn't be so upset. The proof hasn't even been published yet, you have time…"_

"Ohhhhh!" Stiles chortled, along with virtually every person in the room, even Max who mimicked his father's crowing laugh with a giggle of his own. Even Scott had to snicker at the scene, even if he barely understood some of the academic terminology being used. Math had never been his strong suit- his talents lied in the more interpersonal relationships. It was the reason why he worked as a coach and mentor to local kids.

"Asshole," Erica whispered in a sotto sotto voice at the combative lecturer who was now being politely criticized by several other older male professors.

You could see the way Lydia's eyes flashed and hear the barely hidden enjoyment as she ripped him apart in front of a crowd of his peers and her fellow students.

Stiles whistled for a second time, linking his fingers over his abdomen. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm really looking forward to Ms Lydia Martin scolding our own Sourwolf. It'd be kind of like those dominatrix porn scenes I used to watch years ago." Boyd stared at Stiles incredulously from where he stood next to Derek, behind Danny.

"You're an awful human being, Stiles."

"I know, but I'm Danny's awful human being." The pack's senior researcher smirked. On Danny's other side, Jackson was cuddling a drowsy Max and snorting with derision at his best friend and his husband.

"Oh god, I'm surprised you both aren't already knocked up from all the sex you've been having."

"This isn't fanfiction, Jackson. There's no such thing as mpreg." Stiles protested.

Danny, however, turned to look at the blonde man with an eyebrow quirked.

"I'm impressed, Jax. You didn't assume one of us always tops."

Everybody groaned. Stiles just reached back around and high-fived Jackson.

All the wolves in the room could hear Erica mutter with disgust, "I'm _never_ getting married."

"We could look on the bright side," Isaac pointed out thoughtfully, addressing his Alpha with the tiniest uptick of his lips. "This might be the only way you will ever land a smart, beautiful woman like this Lydia Martin."

Derek glared mutinously at the first wolf he had ever turned. "I don't need help with women." It was a credit to all the years he'd spent bonding with his packmates that Isaac didn't flinch at the flinty look in Derek's eyes.

Erica came to her friend's defense. "You're going to need our help with this one. Really, Derek, you'd either giggle dumbly at her or just stand there and stare at her like she was made of aconite. And let's be honest, you don't have the best understanding of personal boundaries. You have no game." She summed up succinctly with a jaunty little shrug.

He just sighed. After a moment of Danny combing through some of Lydia Martin's published papers and squinting at them like they'd magically make sense even with his knowledge of advanced calculus in college, Derek made a decision.

"Okay, this is our plan. We're going to figure out if she's even pregnant in the first place. If she is, we- _I_ will tell her about us. And I'll have to do it as soon as possible." Allison winced at that course of action and interjected over similar protests from the other pack members.

"Maybe we should wait a while and let her get to know us first-"

"No."

"But-"

"_No_," Derek repeated emphatically, pushing himself away from the kitchen table. "She knows as soon as possible so she has all the choices available to her. She wasn't expecting to possibly be carrying a werewolf baby. She might not want to keep it. She gets that option."

"Vic said Dr York will make sure the rest of the samples are destroyed so they aren't used. He's still trying to figure out what Dr. Najarian was doing with them. Some kind of genetic testing, probably." Erica added somberly.

Derek was halfway out the room when Scott spoke for the first time since the entire mess had broke. His voice was just loud enough for Derek to hear him from twenty feet away.

"Don't write her off already, Derek. Give her a chance, and she just might surprise you."

While the others chattered downstairs, Derek ensconced himself in the darkness of his bedroom and all but collapsed at the foot of his bed, with his head in his hands and breathing hard. He didn't know how he felt about this development. It was just one more fucked up thing that had happened to him, and it looked like an innocent woman was about to have her life ripped apart by this. If…_if _she was pregnant… it was done under the guise of a sperm donor, which meant that he had no rights. Not that he would-…he wasn't going to-…he wouldn't begrudge Lydia Martin whatever choice she would make.

He looked out the window, to where the waning crescent hung in the sky. The one constant in his entire life.

He had wanted kids, a couple of them, but that had been before the fire. Before he knew what it was to have nearly everything ripped away. Before all those years of just surviving and refusing to trust anyone again. But things were different now. He had a good pack, and he enjoyed spending time with Meredith, Freddie, and yes, even Max. Thing was, kids generally meant more than getting close to another person in a physical sense. It meant opening himself up again, and that was something he wasn't sure he was capable of.

There was a plot in the woods on his property, containing twelve tombstones that bore proof of his own failures.

_Cordelia. Daniel. Miranda. Kendra. Jessamyn. Noah. Dylan. Olivia. Jennifer. Anthony. Laura._

_Peter._

He still felt each name as if they were seared onto his flesh.

And now, with the prospect of there being a woman actually carrying his child, Derek suddenly felt just how alone he was.


	4. You're My New Best Friend

AN: Sorry for taking so long again- I got sidelined by a few other stories. Derek and Lydia don't meet in this chapter, but they will in the next. That one is mostly written out, as is the one after that- I just had a bit of writer's block which is why I split off the 'Derek and Lydia meet at his restaurant' bit and made it into it's own chapter.

I should have Chapter Five up Sunday (maybe 6 if everything's flowing easily)

**Chapter Four: You're My New Best Friend**

Lydia was depositing her recyclables by the trash bins when a voice piped up from the sidewalk.

"I didn't know anybody had moved into the house." Turning, Lydia saw a woman with long blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail, jogging in place. "Erica Reyes."

"Lydia Martin, are you one of my new neighbors?" She asked curiously.

Erica had a wide and toothy smile, and something about the way she was looking at Lydia was unnerving. "Nah," she shook her head, not even out of breath despite being in motion. "I live about twenty minutes away, I just often go this way on my runs. Sometimes I cut around your house and go through the woods."

"Ah," Lydia said noncommitably, as if her statement wasn't creepy in the slightest. Lydia wasn't sure if the way Erica's eyes were panning over her body was a blantant come-on or if the other woman was up to something else.

It was a beautiful Saturday morning for the middle of October, and there was the smell of smoke in the air, a cooler breeze, and the trees in the woods behind her house were beginning to turn into flame-colors. Lydia'd had several lectures and speaking engagements that week. Those would bring in more money, but she was glad to finally have a break today. Saturdays were her favorite day of the week- she was planning on taking a shower soon, putting on a nice dress, and heading into town to check out the Farmer's Market and maybe do a little browsing for fun.

But, with Erica bouncing from foot to foot in front of her, Lydia was beginning to get the feeling her day was about to be derailed. As Lydia's eyes narrowed in suspicion, a high-pitched breathy voice shouted from down the street, "ERICA! I CAN'T BELIEV- oh, hi!"

Erica didn't look enthused to hear that voice approaching. "Un-freaking-believable," she muttered, ceasing her jogging so she could turn and glare down the street.

Another woman their age was running towards them, pushing a stroller with a placid looking baby boy in it. Running, not jogging, because the she looked like she was in a flat-out panic, not out enjoying a nice jog. Her hair was very dark, nearly black, and piled atop her head in a messy upknot. She practically screeched to a stop next to Erica and Lydia. Once she got her breathing under control she waved a hand between the two women. "I see you've met Erica. Well, I'm Allison Whittemore, and this little man is my son, Max." Allison had a kind and sincere smile, and she was throwing Erica wide-eyed stares. Something was going on there, and Lydia didn't really have the patience to find out what.

"Lydia Martin," she repeated, smiling down at the dark-haired baby in the stroller. "Your son is adorable. I guess you like to come jogging along this road, too?" She asked the two women, crossing her arms and giving Allison a challenging stare. Erica just looked impressed while Allison chuckled nervously.

"Well, I don't normally come this way. But I said I would run with Erica this morning, but she took off before I was ready with Max. Because she does stupidly spontaneous things sometime," Allison grit out between her teeth. "But it really is lovely to meet you! You're probably busy, so why don't we ju-"

She's interrupted by Erica, who looks bored with the pleasantries.

"Are you single? That's a big house to live in alone."

"_Excuse me_?" Lydia wants to verbally rip the presumptuous blonde to shreds, but Allison beats her to it.

"Erica! I can't believe you asked her that!"

"What?" Erica said innocently, "I was just wondering. This is how you make new friends, you ask them questions so you can get to know each other."

Max was babbling in the stroller, demanding his mother's attention. Allison sighed, probably used to dealing with this from her friend, and reached into the bag behind the stroller and pulled out some sliced bananas.

"Here you go, sweetie! Some nana nom noms for you!" Allison cooed to her son, feeding him a piece. Lydia, however, took one whiff of the fruit and slapped her hand over her mouth. The bile rising in her esophagus would not be contained for long. She didn't even say anything to the women, just bolted for the open door to her home. She could hear the other two exclaiming behind her.

She made it to the nearest toilet just in time to empty her stomach of the oatmeal and fruit she'd had for breakfast. "Oh god," she moaned, stomach spasming still. This was incredibly undignified.

"Oh my god, that is gross," Erica echoed from the doorway.

Lydia threw up one more time before finally flushing the toilet and sitting down with her back up against the wall, breathing heavily. Erica took the initiative to rifle around in the cabinet underneath the sink and found a washcloth. Running it under cool water, she squeezed it and then handed it to Lydia. Lydia took it gratefully and wiped her mouth before patting the damp cloth on her face and neck. At least she had been wearing her yoga pants and a loose top, so she wasn't flashing her underwear to a stranger.

Erica had braced herself against the counter top. "So, single and pregnant?" she asked, sounding strangely hopeful.

Lydia just glared up at her. Allison must have finally gotten the stroller inside the house because she entered the bathroom looking worried. "Lydia, are you okay, do you need something? Erica's a nurse, you know."

"She's probably knocked up," the blonde insisted again.

Lydia sighed and gave in; there was apparently no getting rid of those two. "Yes, I'm pregnant. _Yes, I'm single_. I went for artificial insemination. And no, I don't think I need anything right this minute."

Allison gave her a sympathetic smile, "I totally understand. With Max, I had it bad. Una, who's one of our friends, you'll probably meet her soon, she gave me these lollipops that are organic and flavored with lavender and honey and they are _ah-mazing_ at curbing some of the nausea. I'll have to bring you some soon. How far along?"

There they went, talking like Lydia was their newest best friend. Lydia wasn't sure how she felt about that…in high school and college, most of her 'friends' were popular people she gathered around herself. Lydia had always been the Queen Bee. And then there were her academic 'friends' with whom she spent time, but was always distant from because competition was cutthroat and you had to be prepared for anything. Maybe it was time for a change.

"Sure, I'd like that. I'm about six weeks along, I just had it confirmed last week." She can't hide the little smile that grows on her face as she remembers Dr Flores telling her the test results of the blood test that agreed with the four 'positive' sticks she had tested on herself.

"Hey, congrats," Erica said, breaking Lydia out of her reverie. Then she brightens up. "You know what we should do? We should meet for lunch at _AlphaBeta's_."

As Erica is clapping her hands and smiling like an excited child, Allison is ducking her head back into the bathroom, holding Max. "_No!_ We can't…Lydia wasn't feeling well, I'm not sure she's up for food like that." And the two women were giving each other significant looks- there was a whole conversation going on there Lydia was not privy to.

Fed up, she got to her feet with a huff. "As it is, I've been hearing a lot about _AlphaBeta's_ and if it's as good as I've heard people wax poetic about, then I'm sure I'll be hungry by the time we meet in town. How does 12:30 sound?" She smirks at the two and flounces out of the bathroom.

As she goes, Lydia thinks she hears Allison smack Erica on the arm and furiously hiss, "_Derek is going to kill you!_"

Lydia doesn't know who the hell this Derek person is, but hey, her day won't be boring anymore, will it?


	5. Be Nice, Be Normal

Derek growled and stalked out of the kitchen at _AlphaBeta's_, which he co-owned with Jackson. The latter being the reason for his ire. Derek hadn't been kidding when he thought of Jackson as a dictator in the kitchen. His beta needed every ingredient to be the best and every step of the cooking to be precise. Derek, on the other hand, preferred a more rustic and creative approach. This usually resulted in more than one shouting match being heard from the dining area, and Derek resolved at least four times a week to strangle Jackson or rip his throat out.

Today, what this means is that Derek was out front when Lydia Martin sauntered in with Erica and Allison. The former looked smug and the latter just gave him an apologetic shrug as she steered Max's stroller through the door. Panic began to well inside him. _Shit, shit! _This wasn't how he wanted to be introduced to her. Honestly, he had planned on just knocking on her door later that week, but of course, Erica had to go and fuck that up.

While Derek was having a mental melt-down, Lydia was leading his traitorous pack members towards a nice corner table that she's found pleasing. Quietly enough that only Erica will hear him, Derek muttered, _"I won't even bury you in-county."_ Walking with her back to him, Erica just lifts one hand and flips him off.

As he tried to muster up enough courage to go up and chat with them, Derek privately gave himself his usual pep talk.

_Be nice, Derek. Be normal._

Erica was grinning up at him proudly when he loomed up before the table, brandishing three menus as if they were a shield. "This is Lydia, she's pregnant and single!" she declared, waving one of her red lacquered talons in Lydia's direction. Derek, Allison, and Lydia herself turned to look at Erica with their mouths agape. But Derek has long since accepted that Erica Reyes has no sense of shame when it comes to these things. 'These things' being, when she decides two people are meant to be and it's up to her to play matchmaker.

Derek had often forgave her meddling because she really did contribute to the pack in this way; not only was she a nurse, she seemed to have a sixth sense for how to make the pack more stable and who would make a good fit. She was the driving force between Jackson and Allison getting together, she had introduced Una to Boyd, and granted, she had barely had to do anything for Stiles and Danny, but those two had needed a little bit of help "getting past their male deficiencies and hurrying things up" (her words, not his).

But now his beta had gotten it into her head that Lydia was the perfect mate perfect for Derek. And it's now that it really sinks in that Lydia is already pregnant. The insemination had worked, and the petite redhead before him in the burgundy jacket is carrying the next of the Hale bloodline in her. _Damn everything to hell_, he thinks even as his skin stretches and ripples from his wolf's reaction. Erica must have sensed her Alpha's response, because her smile dimmed a bit, but she was still looking up at him hopefully.

If there was a werewolf Harlequin novel, this situation would make a perfect plotline. But _this_ wasn't a romance novel, this was real life, and Derek was going to have to break Erica's and Lydia's hearts soon. He just wished Erica would understand that. No matter how nice Lydia Martin smelled, how clever she was, or how shiny her hair was, or how her legs seemed to go on forever even though she was only—

Derek shook himself out of his stupor and tried to think of something to say to save them from the enormously awkward silence that had fallen at the table.

"Well, that's good to know. Sometimes we cook with alcohol, and some recipes contain tuna. Don't worry, we won't give you mercury poisoning," he finished lamely with a small chuckle.

_Nailed it._

Max giggled, making him the only person at the table that looked impressed by Derek's icebreaking skills. Allison took pity on him and tugged the menus out of his hands and pushed out the fourth chair next to her. "Why don't you sit here for a few minutes and you can take our order special!" To Lydia, she said, "This is Derek Hale, by the way, he's a dear friend of ours and one of the Head Chefs here at the restaurant. The other one's my husband, Jackson," she grinned with pride.

Derek met Lydia's eyes and they really were green. She flipped her ginger mane off one shoulder and smiled at him, "Pleased to meet you then, Derek Hale."

"Likewise," he smiled back. A real one, not the creepy one that scared Stiles all the time.

"So, what would you recommend I try?" If her smile looked a tad too sweet and brittle, Derek ingored it.

Food was a topic that he knew well. "For a starter, I'd definitely go for the smoked duck and marinated figs," he rattled off without needing to glance at the menu. The great thing about werewolf senses was being able to eavesdrop on the comments that their patrons made- it was how he and Jackson had been able to streamline the menu into something that got the best reviews and greatest number of repeat customers.

"Do you now?" Lydia trilled. "Unfortunately, I detest figs." Her apologetic shrug didn't look all that sincere, come to think of it. Derek furrowed his eyebrow at her.

"The avocado, bacon, and spinach salad has gotten rave reviews, and if you pair it with another starter like the fresh crab cakes, you could have a perfectly light lunch," he bit out a tad bit obstinately.

Lydia pursed her lips as she considered the options for a second. "As much as I enjoy avocado, I do rather resent the suggestion that as a woman I'd only want a 'light lunch' because the implication is that I don't enjoy food or am perpetually on a diet. And I certainly wouldn't waste eight dollars on what is probably imitation crab."

"Our crab is fresh-caught and _succulent_!" he all but growled at her. Allison and Erica were following the exchange like a tennis match. Max, watching his mother, thought it was all a game and tried to follow her line of sight as it bounced between his Alpha and the pretty new woman.

"Okay, let's forget the starters. How do you feel about scallops?"

"Hate them. It's the slimy texture. Squid is even worse," she tossed back at him with a curl of her lips.

"Not vegetarian, then?"

Her expression was downright gleeful, "Oh, I certainly enjoy _meat_. I just try to consume it sparingly. It's better for the environment, after all."

"I guess you're too much of an _environmentalist_ to enjoy my wild boar ragu with the slow-roasted tomato sauce and cavatappi?" This conversation was not going well at all, and Derek was well aware that he was openly glaring at the woman across from him. He couldn't help it if he was a bit defen-

"Boar is a tad bit rich for lunchtime, don't you think?" She mocked him.

"Don't tell me what's appropriate in my restaurant, I'll have you know-" he never got to finish that sentence.

Somehow, Allison got the bright idea to help him out by plopping baby Max into his arms. Maybe she thought Derek holding a cute baby would soften the impression he was making on their new friend. And maybe it would've worked, had Max not chosen that moment to vomit mashed bananas all over his shirt. Lydia's face took on an ashen color and her eyes widened. "I gotta-" was all she managed to say, pressing a hand to her mouth and taking off for the restrooms in back. Other diners stopped eating and conversing to watch the young woman's progress with alarm.

Derek closed his eyes for a moment, and sensed Allison bending over him to take Max. "In my defense, I got there too late to stop Erica. Sorry about the shirt…I'll just...take Max and go say hi to Jackson." And when he opened his eyes, Allison was gone. He heard her explain to the other patrons that Lydia's "just got a touch of morning sickness, the poor dear," and the responding clucks of sympathy. He knew there was a reason he liked Allison.

Which left him with Erica, who was glaring at him with her arms crossed.

"That could have gone better."

Understatement of the year.

"Not even in-county, Erica," he reminded her. Not wanting to sit there covered in mashed bananas, Derek stormed away towards his office in the back. He usually kept a change of clothes, just in case.

He was standing there in the office, half-naked, when his sensitive hearing picked up her heartbeat in the doorway. It sped up, and that was definitely an intake of breath he heard from her. Derek let himself smirk for a moment before he hid it behind a blank expression. After the way Lydia had snottily criticized him earlier, Derek was glad he could have some kind of effect on her.

"See something you like?" He couldn't resist calling out over his shoulder as he pulled on another black t-shirt. When he turned around, giving her a glimpse of abs and a dark trail of hair that disappeared underneath his jeans before it was covered by the shirt. Lydia was standing six feet away from him, her face wan but her eyes flashing angrily.

He remembered that she's preg- _technically pregnant_ with his baby and he should at least try to be more cordial so she doesn't completely hate him before he can sit her down and explain everything. It's bad enough his wolf is roiling underneath the surface, pushing him to protect her and to _want_ the baby she's carrying. He doesn't really understand what he's feeling right now, or the way his wolf is reacting. He was a born werewolf, he had grown up in a pack. There were many things he had taken for granted; questions he would never have thought to ask when he was fifteen because he'd assumed that his family would be with him when he needed the answers. But all that was gone now.

He sighed, "Forget it- just...how about I take you into the kitchen and we can figure out what you can eat without triggering the morning sickness?"

She took a moment to examine his face and judge his sincerity before warily nodding, "Sure, that would be nice. But before we do, I want you to know I'm not an object of fetish."

Derek had already held out his elbow for her to curl her arm around when she dropped that bombshell on him.

"What the_ hell_ are you talking about?"

"Erica is clearly trying to get us together, and she seems to think that because I am pregnant, it makes me more appealing to you. Therefore, I don't care what kind of fetish you have for pregnant women, I won't be indulging it; there will be no getting off on me letting you rub cocoa butter all over my stretch marks. Got it?" She arched her eyebrow up at him.

Derek's mouth did a pretty good impression of a fish out of water before he took a deep breath, "That's...I'm not...God, that's not at all accurate! Just ignore Erica, okay?"

Lydia just made a disbelieving snort as he escorted her towards the kitchen.

When they walked through the swinging doors, Jackson was cuddling Max to his chest, making the little boy squeal loudly as he pulled up the onesie and blew raspberries against his soft belly while Max tried to squirm away and pound his tiny fists against his father's head.

Derek turned to look at her then, and Lydia was watching the scene with a soft smile that made the lines at the corner of her eyes crinkle.

It's then that Derek started to fall for her a little.

_I am so fucked_.

Lydia was home alone later that night, working on a paper she was going to present at UC-Davis next week. Today had been eventful, to say the least. Two strange women had befriended her and it had been almost like Erica was throwing her at Derek. Lydia wasn't sure what was going on with Derek and Allison, Jackson, and Erica. The others seemed to act like he was their superior which, Jackson was co-Head Chef, and Allison and Erica didn't even work at the restaurant. She wasn't going to lie, she did kind of like being around them- it broke up the boredom of doing everything alone. And Derek Hale was...nice on the eyes. And he had whipped up a nice mustard-chicken salad for her which had been delicous. And it had been cute the way he preened for all of a moment before he tried to brush it off as just another one of the restaurant's steady stream of praise.

The doorbell rang, jolting her out of her reverie. With a sigh of annoyance, she wondered if it was Erica again. She hoped not, she was looking forward to a nice quiet night in with _The Notebook_.

When she swung the door open, it wasn't the tall blonde woman, but Derek Hale himself.

She had barely furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before he blurted out, "I lied earlier. There was something going on with Erica bringing you to _AlphaBeta's_. Can…can I come in? It's important, I really need to tell you something."

Well, that wasn't ominous at all.

Next Chapter is titled,"From My Heart, Down to My Nerve Endings"

Let's see what you think happens based on that! MWAHAHAHA


	6. From my heart, down to my nerve endings

Lydia had been six years old when she proved that Santa Claus wasn't real.

She could remember wearing her hair in double plaits that were tied at the bottom with festive red-and-green bows, sitting at her little writing desk in her bedroom and methodically making a list of what she wanted from Santa for Christmas. And then she had gone to the mall with her parents, who still loved each other at the time, decked out in a green velvet dress, white tights, and shiny black maryjanes— all because she wanted to make a good impression on Santa so he would remember to bring her everything on her list. But most especially the Jade BRATZ doll.

Ashley J. had been bragging that Santa was going to bring her the SugarPlum Barbie but Lydia had scoffed and rolled her eyes at that. Barbies were for _babies_. Lydia was going to make sure she got that BRATZ doll and she was going to bring it for show-and-tell and make stupid Ashley J. and her pathetic friends regret making fun of Lydia for being able to add double digit numbers when they couldn't.

The North Pole hadn't looked very magical to her discerning eyes, and upon telling her mother that this clearly was a different Santa than she had seen last year, she'd been informed in a harried tone that 'Santa is busy right now, so he sends his employees all over the world to find out what children want for Christmas.' This did not placate her at all- how in the world was that man supposed to remember what _all the kids_ told him they wanted? It was 2001, she didn't see any recording devices. For that matter, why couldn't they just e-mail Santa a list?

Her picture with Santa that year had her pouting with her arms crossed petulantly in front of her.

Two days before Christmas, she had taken advantage of her mother and sister running an errand to the grocery store to go snooping through her parents' things. Her father had been downstairs in his study, and his idea of fatherhood usually involved hands-off "babysitting" so she didn't worry about him coming to check on her. She found the box with her Jade doll in the second guest-room closet, up at the top shelf. On the one hand she had been relieved that she was going to have that doll, but on the other hand, she now had a sneaking suspicion that she had been fed a silly lie about Santa's existence.

Christmas morning, her worst fears were confirmed when she tore open the wrapping and saw the very same box she'd seen two days before, but with a sticker that said:

'To: Lydia From: Santa'.

* * *

It was that odd, discombobulated sensation she was experiencing right now, sat in her living room trying to make sense of the evidentiary proof before her that werewolves were not only real, _but she might be carrying one in her uterus right at that very moment_.

In true Lydia Martin fashion, she was already formulating a list of question that needed answers now, and Derek Hale was going to give them to her, _as soon as he stopped twitching on the floor._

* * *

_Seven Minutes Ago:_

"I lied earlier. There was something going on with Erica bringing you to _AlphaBeta's_. Can…can I come in? It's important, I really need to tell you something." He was waving a bag of lollipops before him like a peace offering, waiting for her to take them and invite him in. Lydia just narrowed her eyes at him.

"You're still a strange man. A strange man with candy," she pointed out, not in a mood to deal with whatever bullshit he was trying to sell her. Just her luck, she moves to a new town and the first people she really meets are a bunch of freaks trying to pimp her out to a man with a weird fetish for preganant women.

"They're organic lavender lollies," Derek supplied. "My aunt swore by them for relieving morning sickness."

"And if I were to call your aunt now, would she be able to reassure me you are neither a serial killer with a cult nor a sexual fetishist obsessed with pregnant women?"

Derek looked like he was biting back his temper. "She's dead. My family's all dead. And no, I didn't kill them." He ground out, staring intently at the window to her left, expression carefully shuttered.

That revelation made her heart constrict; she couldn't imagine how horrible that was to be the only one left in your family. But she didn't voice that sentiment. "I'm not going to pity you and coo over you, _poor you," _she pronounced. "Stay here for a moment." Before she closed the door, she reached out and grabbed the bag of candies and disappeared into the house with them. He had looked like he wanted to say something, but she had slammed the front door on him and flipped the lock for good measure.

Lydia set the candy on her dining room table, making a mental note to test a few of them for traces of poison later, and pulled her taser out of her purse. Unlocking the door once more and opening it, she saw Derek still standing there patiently, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. At the sight of the weapon in her hand, he just snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Whatever works for you, sweetheart."

"_Don't call me sweetheart_!" She huffed. "Just…sit on the stupid couch, and let's hear it."

They were settled on opposing sides of the living room table, staring at one other: Lydia expectantly and Derek opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find a way to start the conversation he came here for. The longer he took to say something, the more impatiently Lydia was tapping her foot against the floor. Finally—

"You went to the County Park Plaza Clinic, didn't you?" He sounded so _serious._

She was instantly suspicious of where this is going. "Yes, and you had better explain what this is about ASAP."

"They had a set of samples that they shouldn't have had, and they shouldn't have used them. If you used LU966, then the ba- the _sperm_ was mine."

_Are you fucking kidding me?_

Her first reaction is that this jerk thinks he can _swagger_ in here with a leather jacket and a perfectly obscene amount of scruff on his face, and say he has a right to her baby. Her second reaction is what she always thinks when she realizes once again that hey, _she's going to have a baby._Her third reaction is when she realizes that Derek Hale, Very Handsome Specimen, had provided the other half of the DNA to create her baby. But then she's downright indignant.

"Well, if that's true, it doesn't give you the right-"

"_I know that_, and that's not why I'm here." But she's already analyzing his previous comment and coming to the worst possible conclusions.

"Why shouldn't they have used those samples?" She's perfectly aware that her voice became rather shrill there. Her mind was racing with all the awful possibilities. _HIV—_

"I'm a werewolf."

_What?_

It's so outlandish, so ridiculous, she gets pissed off at him. "Are you insane?" she hisses. "How dare you come to my home and blather on about_stupid mythological werewolves_?"

That's when his face transforms partially. Derek's eyes are no longer pale green, they're red and glowing. His forehead has protruded, merging with the bridge of his nose. There are fangs in his mouth, and he's snarling sofly. And- oh god, he has _claws_! Lydia froze in shock, her mouth wide open.

Still transformed, Derek growled, "I'm a werewolf, and so might be your baby."

Lydia just stared at him, still open-mouthed with horror. Her heart is pounding in her ears and she can't seem to remember how to breathe. But then she's aware of the weight in her left hand.

And _that's_ when she shoots him.

* * *

_Now_

She carefully kneels down and pulls the taser prongs out of his chest. He had reverted back to his..._human_...form when she had discharged the electric probes into his torso, and on some level, she feels a little bit bad about hurting him like this. She just collapses against the loveseat, her hip pressed up against the heat emanating through the denim material covering his thigh.

She can't process this right now.

"Get out," she mumbles numbly. "Write your phone number on the pad by the door, so I can call you at any time I want, and ask you questions. But you'll leave now." There is more steely determination in her voice, then.

He sits up, eyeing her warily. Framed the way they are with dark lashes, his eyes seem so light and so green. He looks at her sadly, as if he already knows what's going to happen and is resigned. But he gets up and out of the corner of her eye she sees him bend over the sticky pad and hears the soft scratch of the pencil.

"I left Allison's number, too, in case you didn't have it. Her- she comes from a family of Hunters. They hunted werewolves. If anyone can give you a decent outsider's perspective, she can."

Lydia might not have dared try to get up from the floor, not after she'd had her entire sense of reality yanked out from underneath her, but her brain was still in some form of working order.

"But Jackson? And baby Max?"

"Jackson's a werewolf, yes. As for Max...it wouldn't show until he was older. Allison's human, and so are you, so there's a smaller chance of giving birth to a werewolf child. I, ah," he seemed a bit lost for words for a moment. "None of us will hurt you. We're not monsters; we're a pack and that just makes us different. But we'll be there for you, no matter what. If you have the baby, it'd be a part of our pack, we'd look out for you both. If not, that's fine...that's why I came to you tonight. So you'd have time."

_Time to decide whether she wanted to terminate or not,_ is what goes unspoken in the heavy silence that followed. Lydia swallowed thickly and nodded.

"Just keep your phone on you at all times. I will have questions. Lots of questions and you will answer them all." She reminded him, clinging to that last bit of rationality.

When Derek closed the door behind him, and she was alone once more, Lydia shivered. His absence didn't make anything better, she was still going to have to deal with this.

She couldn't think of anything else to do, so she just broke down and started to cry.


End file.
